


Seeking Answers

by Lamachine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/F, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Claire, I presume?” the woman spoke with ease and Claire blinked, shifting to the side. Her heart had skipped a beat and suddenly reminded her of her body’s limits, rushing to mind hunger, exhaustion, thirst, and fear. She brushed her hand over her 9 mm, seeking reassurance. “We’ve got a mutual friend.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely marbs84. The prompt was Root recruiting Claire for Team Machine, and Claire having a crush on Root. It turned out angstier than planned (no surprise there). Enjoy!

The wind tangled her curls but Claire didn’t mind. She was thinking fast, _processing_ as she liked to refer to it. In this moment all that mattered, all that existed was the puzzle and the solution, and the way she would take to get from one to the other. Focused as she was, she didn’t notice a stranger lurking beside her, staring at her with curious eyes.

 

“Claire, I presume?” the woman spoke with ease and Claire blinked, shifting to the side. Her heart had skipped a beat and suddenly reminded her of her body’s limits, rushing to mind hunger, exhaustion, thirst, and fear. She brushed her hand over her 9 mm, seeking reassurance. “We’ve got a mutual friend.”

 

Claire ran her eyes over the crowd, noticing the short man with glasses that had been following her for more than a day now. It didn’t take much to make the association and Claire chose to ignore the stranger then, returning her eyes to the floor and its markings. That was more important; that was the key. “I don’t have any friends,” she shrugged, but the tall brunette didn’t budge.

 

Ignoring the stranger’s stare, Claire felt her cheeks redden under the attention despite her best efforts. She had taken only a quick look at her and Claire regretted it now, unable to focus as she imagined the woman’s traits, mind slowly recollecting the data and turning it into a somewhat attractive grin.

 

“What do you want?” she groaned, unwillingly offering her attention to the stranger.

 

“I just wanted to meet you, Claire,” she only replied, offering a hand to shake.

 

Claire laughed. “Oh, you wanna make friends now?” Frustration burned in her chest and she cursed herself for not having figured out the puzzle yet, for still having people following her around, for not having won yet. She wanted to reach the end, _needed_ to reach the end and this conversation was only stalling her. She couldn’t figure out why she was letting it happen.

 

“I really don’t,” the woman replied, curling her lip like she couldn’t care what happened to Claire and that intrigued her, somehow.

 

“You’re not going to try and stop me?” Claire asked, frowning. “Tell me that this game is dangerous, and that I should give up?”

 

Claire remembered the gun in her shaking hand, the short man with glasses telling her nonsense about the game and powerful forces behind it, about the consequences of finding answers. She thought for a second of taking a break, of allowing herself a few hours to rest but there was a rush, an urgency to solve the puzzle that she couldn’t ignore.

 

“You make your own decisions,” the stranger answered, leaning against the parapet lazily. Her tired traits betrayed her apparent calm and Claire frowned; this woman looked like another puzzle to solve, and not an ugly one at that, Claire realised almost unwillingly.

 

She swallowed hard, pushing down the nervous lump forming in her throat. “Why should I trust any of you?” Claire asked defiantly, fighting the loss of control with what little energy she still had.

 

“You really shouldn’t,” she unhurriedly averted her eyes, leaving the sight of the city to stare into Claire’s with a serious, cold look. “If my boss wanted me to kill you, I’d be putting a bullet through your brain right now.”

 

Claire shivered at the thought, but was pleased with the honesty. “And what does your boss tell you to do now?”

 

“At the moment?” the woman smiled almost sadly. “She’s not saying.”

 

Conflicted, Claire’s eyes went from the stranger to the markings on the floor, hesitating from one equation to another. She didn’t know which one to focus on, which answer she should be digging for and it left her feeling exhausted. She bit her lower lip as her gaze lifted towards the city, the landscape of rooftops distant and comforting.

 

“This puzzle you’re completing, it’s going to give you answers,” the woman promised, but there was an edge to her voice. “But you see Claire...” she sighed, “the more answers you have, the more questions will rise, and the more decisions you’ll have to make.”

 

Claire frowned at that, returning her eyes to the stranger and waiting for an explanation.

 

“You think it’s hard to decide now,” the woman continued, laughing bitterly. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

 

Anger started to swell inside Claire’s chest again, making her want to pick up her bag and her laptop and run away; from this game, from that woman, from everything she had ever known, but out there, the world was chaos, painful disorder that had crushed her before. She needed purpose, clarity, and more importantly, something to do.

 

“You make one bad decision, one bad move... people die,” the stranger’s tone had turned harsh and Claire didn’t need much imagination to hear the guilt behind the words. “And it’s your fault,” the woman’s eyes filled with water and crazy glint. “Entirely _your_ fault.”

 

Her tongue insisted on the syllables and Claire didn’t like the worry that had nested in her gut now, making it impossible to think straight. “So if that’s the kind of life you want, Claire, then go ahead,” she pointed at the markings on the floor. “If not, then we can offer you a choice.”

 

“What choice?” Claire asked as if on instinct, and she hated how the question had surfaced out of her without prompting.

 

“I’m not familiar with the details, but knowing Harold, he has a plan,” the woman’s voice turned soft at the mention of the name, and it reminded Claire of her frustration, of how she had been bothered by this man for hours now, when she had important things to do, questions that needed answering.

 

Claire laughed bitterly; “you don’t even know what you’re offering me?”

 

The stranger’s traits froze again. “I know what’s waiting for you out there,” she replied, almost annoyed. “I know there’s little chance of it being better than whatever Harold comes up with.”

 

The chaos of the previous hours came to mind; the men following her around, shooting at her, Harold insisting she was going to die if she continued down that path, that man pretending he was her father... But Claire didn’t know what she would be without a puzzle to solve. She hesitated.

 

“So are you coming?” the woman sighed, moving towards the exit. “Because I’m kind of on a schedule here.”

 

It was in the way she didn’t seem to care what would happen to Claire. In the way she seemed to know things Claire would never find out on her own. How she looked even more exhausted than Claire was but kept her head high.

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

Claire hadn’t even noticed she had agreed that already she was following the woman towards the elevator, leaving behind the next clue. She was about to change her mind when they met with two other strangers, a tall man in a suit, and a short woman wearing clothes strangely similar to Claire’s. Beside them, the man with glasses – Harold, Claire recalled – tried a weak smile that Claire ignored.

 

“Sameen,” the woman grinned at a short brunette. “Nice hoodie.”

 

Sameen scowled at her. “Nice uniform,” she replied grumpily. “Flying somewhere?”

 

The stranger gleamed, yet didn’t answer. There was history there, Claire could tell in the way all four of them tensed up when the elevator door closed, leading them down the building, towards Claire’s new puzzle.

 

[...]

 

Harold had told her many times to stop spying on people, but Claire couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t like being stuck in an underground subway station offered many chances at entertainment, and Claire had to do _something_ to keep her mind occupied. Staying in her room to read wasn’t an option; the old office had been converted into a bedroom in a rush, and no matter how much Claire turned on the heater, it remained cold, humid, and dusty. Harold didn’t trust her around his computers, and Root was so rarely around... Claire had to satiate her curiosity, one way or another.

 

“She’s creepy,” Claire heard Shaw’s voice around the corner, more like a groan really, and she flinched. There was no surprise in learning that Shaw didn’t appreciate her presence here, and the feeling was mutual, but it pained her nonetheless. “I don’t see why her having a gun would help.”

 

Root’s waving intonations, almost musical, brought a smile to Claire’s lips. “She’s keeping one on her at all times,” she explained, and the fact that she had noticed that about Claire made her heart race, like every time Root said her name or noticed her, really. “Might as well teach her to use it before she accidentally shoots the lurch.”

 

Claire smiled at that. She didn’t really know why Root hated John so much; Claire found him nice enough. She made a show of getting annoyed with him anyway, mostly because it made Root smile and Claire loved that sight; tired traits turning into a grin.

 

“I’m not good with kids,” Shaw protested.

 

“She’s a teen,” Root insisted.

 

Claire heard a loud, irritated sigh. “Those are worse than kids.”

 

Claire was about to leave, rolling her eyes in annoyance, when she heard Root’s voice again, low and teasing.

 

“Come on, Shaw,” she almost whispered and Claire stepped forward, noticing that she could see them both in the reflection of the black computer screen. In the faintly image she saw Root’s hand slipping under Shaw’s sweater and Claire swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as her heartbeat grew wild, overwhelmed by jealousy. “Could you _please_ teach our new recruit how to shoot, so she doesn’t end up _killing_ one of us?”

 

Shaw smirked at that, and Claire left before she could see their lips crashing together, frustrated with herself.

 

[...]

 

 

She didn’t say anything when Shaw knocked on her bedroom door, a few hours later, and suggested target practice. Claire just rolled her eyes and followed dutifully, thinking of the war Root had mentioned a few times and deciding not to frown on an opportunity to become a better soldier – even if it meant spending time with Shaw. She didn’t really get what Root found in her; sure, Shaw was attractive, but apart from that, she was all muscle and no brains.

 

Bear followed them joyfully, as usual; he spent his days hanging out with Claire in the underground stations and sometimes she took him for a walk along the rails even though Harold said not to. Claire found the dog lovely enough, and some days it seemed like he was her only reason for staying here.

 

She had thought a few times of leaving this place and going back to that building to complete the puzzle and win the game, but the more days passed, the less likely it seemed the clues would still be there. Besides, Root had opened a new world for her – more boring, perhaps, in the confines of an underground station, but still tremendously intriguing – even more so when Root was around.

 

At least Shaw hated talking as much as Claire did, she thought as she followed her down the corridor and onto the tracks. They reached a table with protective gear and a few handguns, and Claire ran a hand down Bear’s fur almost nervously. She hadn’t fired her 9mm since that day Harold had followed her around and that had been easier with the anger and adrenaline coursing through her veins.

 

She pulled out her gun, cold and still surprisingly light in her palm, and waited for instructions.

 

Shaw winced. “I know you think that Shield looks cool, but it’s not the best to start with, kid,” she told her, but Claire only glared at her.

 

“It’s mine,” she told Shaw, annoyed, reaffirming her grip on her Smith & Wesson.

 

“Look, it’s got shit accuracy,” Shaw replied, offering her a larger handgun instead, but Claire didn’t want to switch guns. She had bought this one, and had chosen it well; it was _hers_ , and she didn’t want Shaw’s guns or Shaw’s help and she declared that to Shaw angrily.

 

Raising her hands in defeat, Shaw turned towards the table, grabbing two headsets and offering one to Claire to protect her eardrums before she put on hers. Claire thought Shaw looked slightly less menacing with the protective gear on, but she didn’t say anything. Shaw pointed down the empty rails without a word, and Claire noticed the targets in the distance, waiting to be shot. Stepping back, Shaw crossed her arms and watched as Claire prepped herself to fire.

 

It wasn’t her first time shooting; she had went to a firing range at the gun show right after she had bought the M & P9 Shield, but that had been to know what to expect when she would shoot. She had focused on the recoil, on the way it buzzed painfully in her wrist and up her arm, on the loud explosion in the barrel, on her heartbeat going wild and erratic. Claire hadn’t thought for a second, then, about accuracy and firing distances; about hitting a target.

 

She fired a shot and winced, ignoring the discomfort it created inside her and she fired again and again, the anger and shame burning inside. In the end, Claire didn’t succeed in getting any targets and she sighed, frustrated.

 

“You’re not holding it right,” Shaw explained, stepping forward, her hand readjusting Claire’s hold, and Claire grunted, letting her arm fall down instead.

 

“You said it yourself, it lacks accuracy,” she defended, but Shaw grabbed the Shield from Claire’s hand and fired three shots down the tracks, all of them hitting their target.

 

Claire glared at her. “Well you’ve got practice,” she continued, irritated as her cheeks reddened, and Shaw groaned, shaking her head.

 

“And _training_ ,” she added, shoving the Smith & Wesson back in Claire’s hands. “Which you don’t have, and clearly don’t want.”

 

There was a fire burning in Claire’s chest, despite the cold air of the station and she glared at Shaw. “Yeah well you’re not exactly a great teacher,” Claire argued. “You just stand there and judge.”

 

“You know what?” Shaw groaned. “I’m not paid enough for this crap.”

 

Shaw threw the Smith & Wesson back on the table and started walking away. Claire didn’t know why it unsettled her so much, why it prompted her into yelling instead of her usual silent frustration. “You sure give up easy,” Claire felt her eyes watering, and she absently followed Shaw. “I don’t care, I’ll learn on my own, it’s not like I needed you anyway.”

 

She was about to scream something else, she didn’t know what, when Root appeared in front of them. Shaw and Claire both froze in their tracks, blinking as if they weren’t certain Root was really there.

 

“Everything alright?” she asked with a frown. With her hair tied up, wearing glasses and a tight suit, Root looked stunning and Claire thought of complimenting her before she stopped herself, remembering that Shaw stood just beside her. Claire rolled her eyes when she noticed Shaw’s hungry stare.

 

“What are you doing here?” Shaw groaned in frustration instead of welcoming Root, and Claire hated her even more.

 

The rude tone didn’t seem to faze Root however; it never did. “Had to change,” she explained, her eyes running from Claire to Shaw. “What’s going on?”

 

“I’m doing target practice,” Claire answered before Shaw could. “Are you changing alias again?” she asked, concerned. Root had told them recently about the constant identity changes she had to go through and Claire had found the idea appealing until she had realised the toll it was taking on Root.

 

Root sent her a soft, comforting smile. “Nothing to worry about,” she promised, but Claire could hear the lie. Root turned to Shaw with a colder voice. “A word, Sameen?”

 

Shaw sighed in irritation before she followed Root down the corridor, and Claire, pissed, put her headset back on. She returned to stand beside the table and grabbed her Shield again, carefully placing her fingers like Shaw had showed her seconds before. She aimed towards the target and shot the rest of her bullets while barely looking, seeking the thrill of adrenaline more than anything else.

 

That was, until she heard a loud, pained cry coming from down the tracks, where the targets had been set up. She quickly took off her protective gear and stepped forward, noticing Bear, in the shadows, limping. Claire blinked at the sight of the blood oozing out of his behind, her heart racing, tears swelling up in her eyes.

 

Root and Shaw appeared by her side in a rush, and Shaw immediately ran to the dog. She stopped him from walking away and patted him down, checking the injury with patient hands, even as she yelled at Claire. “What did you do?”

 

Claire started to shake. She wanted to say things like _it’s not my fault_ and _I’m sorry_ but she couldn’t; a hurtful lump had settled in her throat, blocking her voice.

 

“Why weren’t you using blanks?” Root asked, exasperated, and it took Claire a moment to realise the question wasn’t meant for her.

 

“What, you think I can just call up my criminal contacts and ask for blank ammo?” Shaw replied angrily, her attention still focused on the dog. When she finally turned around, her hands were bloodied and Claire couldn’t stop sobbing, then. She had killed Bear, all because she had been angry and careless, and it was _all her fault_.

 

Root moved to stand a bit closer to her, running a hand down her arm. “It’s okay, Claire,” Root promised, and yet she froze when Claire threw herself in her arms. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

A warm hand drew circles on Claire’s back as she tried to ignore Shaw’s constant recriminations.

 

“She didn’t mean to, Shaw,” Root muted her instantly, and she left Claire’s side for a moment, walking towards Bear and Shaw, taking a look for herself. Claire wanted to follow, but she stopped at Shaw’s angry glare.

 

“Is he...?” she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

 

Shaw only stared, eyes blazing in rage, and Claire didn’t push, choosing instead to run back into her room. There, with the door safely closed behind her, she left the tears run down her cheek as she stared at the gun she still had in her hands. It felt heavier than it had before, and she remembered what Root had told her on the day they had met. On that rooftop, Root had warned her of this; of decisions she would have to take, responsibilities she wouldn’t be allowed to ignore.

 

With that lump steady and painful in her throat, Claire gathered the few things that belonged to her into her backpack, ready to run.

 

[...]

 

A knock at the door snapped Claire out of her dark thoughts, but she didn’t answer it. Nonetheless the door opened, and for a split second she wished it was Root, but it wasn’t. Shaw stepped inside her bedroom while Claire wiped her tears quickly, frustrated that she had been caught crying, and by Shaw, of all people.

 

“What?” she nearly barked, sitting on her bed with her legs up, arms around her knees as if protecting herself from some invisible enemy.

 

Shaw looked embarrassed, and Claire had never seen her so hesitant. “Root said you’d want to know that Bear’s gonna be okay,” Shaw tried, averting her eyes.

 

“Why didn’t she come herself?” Claire replied, irritated even though the news made her feel so relieved, she thought she was going to cry again.

 

“She had to leave quickly,” Shaw answered with a nod. She cleared her throat as if to say something she really didn’t want to, waited a few seconds and then seemingly changed her mind. Shaw turned to leave and Claire noticed her clean hands, remembering the blood that had stained them only a half hour before.

 

Claire swallowed hard. “Are you worried?” she asked Shaw, stopping her in her tracks. Claire’s heartbeat was almost deafening as she dared to add; “when Root leaves like that.”

 

There was a shift in Shaw’s posture, and Claire wondered what it meant. “Root’s able to take care of herself,” she answered, but it sounded like a lie.

 

“I’m worried,” Claire confessed and Shaw sighed lightly, turning around and coming to sit at the edge of Claire’s mattress, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“She’s a tough one,” Shaw said without looking at Claire, and a faint smile appeared on her traits. “Saved my ass more than once.”

 

She looked up then, and stared at Claire, as if to stress the importance of what she had just admitted.

 

Claire smiled shyly, worrying at her lip. “She saved my life too.”

 

The lump returned in her throat, more painful than it was before and Claire glanced from Shaw to her backpack, remembering how ready she had been to leave moments before, and how she didn’t knew, once again, what she wanted to do.

 

“She’ll be okay,” Shaw promised, standing up and moving towards the door. She turned around, then. “Well, as long as she’s not around when you target practice.”

 

Claire glared at her, a soothing warmth spreading inside at the thought of Shaw trying to cheer her up. It was awkward and strange, but Claire liked it, somehow. “My gun’s got shit accuracy,” she told her, repeating words that weren’t hers.

 

“Damn right,” Shaw smirked before she closed the door behind her, leaving Claire alone in her makeshift bedroom.

 

It didn’t take Claire nearly as much time to unpack her things than it had shoving them in her bag to begin with.


End file.
